


If Only In My Dreams

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Clint Barton Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Travel Woes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:59:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: Phil and Clint have plans for their first Christmas together. Then Clint gets called away for a mission five days before Christmas Eve, and travel delays may keep him far away from Phil for Christmas.





	If Only In My Dreams

“Uh, my flight got canceled.”

Phil nudged a gift under the tree. “Plenty of other flights out of Narita, though.”

“Um. Not really. Theoretically, yes, but none that have seats. Two days before Christmas and all.”

“Right.” Phil cursed inwardly. It was their first Christmas together, and they had Plans. Granted, those plans involved sleeping in, pancakes, gifts, and lazing about, but it was more of an effort Phil had made for Christmas in years. “Tell me again why you can’t just hop on a SHIELD transport?”

“Because my cover needs to remain intact, blah blah blah.”

Phil knew that, of course. He sighed. “So what now?”

“I got rebooked through Copenhagen tomorrow.”

“Copenhagen? When you were supposed to go directly to Newark?”

“It’s complicated. They assured me that it was the fastest way given that nearly every plane is completely booked.”

“And SHIELD won’t spring for an upgrade to business because—”

“Because my cover can’t afford that. Yeah.”

They shared a moment of frustrated silence.

“Promise me you’ll sleep?” 

The soft lilt in Clint’s voice made Phil’s heart ache. Dammit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Clint wasn’t supposed to be called out on a mission until the new year. Phil had traded in quite a few favors to make that happen, and of course, something had come up, and one of Clint’s covers had been the perfect match, so Clint had set off for Japan five days ago.

“I will. They put you up in a hotel, at least?”

“Yeah. Nice one, too, it seems. I’m about to head over. Just grabbing some snacks first.”

“Banana KitKats?”

“Maybe.” Clint’s smile was easy to hear.

“Text me your flight numbers so I can keep track of when you’re landing.”

“Will do.” Clint paused. “I know this is the job, but it sucks.”

The ache in Phil’s chest flared up. “You’ll be home tomorrow. It’ll still be in time for Christmas.”

“I guess so.”

“Thank goodness for that fourteen-hour time difference.”

“Right. I should go.”

“Let me know if anything changes.”

“Will do. Sweet dreams.”

Clint hung up before Phil had the chance to say anything in response. They sometimes did the “love you—love you, too” thing, but not always, and besides, this was technically SHIELD-related communication and thus subject to oversight.

Phil slumped into the couch. He’d been excited about picking Clint up from the airport tomorrow and wasn’t looking forward to idling away the day instead. There was always work, of course. But when he first got together with Clint, they had a conversation about making space for their relationship, which had been a challenge at first considering neither of them had much of a life outside of SHIELD. Their non-existent social life was due in part, of course, to the fact that being at work meant being around each other, and during the years when they were “stupidly pining after one another” (Natasha’s words), that time together was precious.

Having sorted out their feelings, they were better about taking days off together, and were looking forward to Christmas. They picked out a tree from one of the numerous stands that had popped up all over the city, decorated it together, and got a whole two days off for Christmas.

Phil vowed that next year, he’d drag Clint to a cabin in Maine without any cell phone reception, and then no last-minute missions could be sprung on them. 

That thought helped him to go to sleep, and he somehow made it through the next day. Clint’s flight to Copenhagen left on time, and Phil went to bed shortly thereafter.

The next morning, he woke up to a string of texts.

_No idea how much I just blew on this juice but it’s delicious_

_I’m in Copenhagen btw_

_The guy selling me the juice barely said a word to me_

_He was kinda hot, though_

_Not as hot as you, babe_

_obviously_

That one made Phil snort.

_uhh There is some kind of fuckery in London that’s messing with air traffic_

The next text is from thirty minutes later and consists of a long row of crying emojis.

_fuck me my flight got delayed again_

_oh wait they can reroute me through Frankfurt_

That was the last text. Phil wished that Clint had included a flight number, but maybe the rebooking had been last minute and Clint had to rush to make the flight.

Over breakfast, Phil checked all NYC-bound departures out of Frankfurt. He frowned. All U.S.-bound flights for the day left already. He calculated the time difference again. It was late afternoon in Frankfurt, so yes, he was right about that. 

Half an hour later, Clint called. “Hey.” He sounded exhausted.

“Got stuck in Frankfurt?”

“Yeah. I didn’t wake you, right?”

“It’s almost noon, so, no.”

“Time has lost all meaning. I can barely remember what day it is.”

Phil wished he could hug Clint. Or at least see him, but Clint’s burner didn’t have a camera. “I’m sorry. What now?”

“Flying out tomorrow, hopefully. I should get there in the late afternoon.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Okay.” Clint yawned. “I just wanna be home. With you.”

“I know. Me too. You’ll be here in no time.” Maybe if Phil said that often enough, he’d actually believe it. 

“Not soon enough,” Clint murmured.

“Love you.” Phil figured Clint needed to hear that.

“Love you, too.” He sounded a little happier. 

“Call me if anything changes again.”

“It’ll be the middle of the night for you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Phil wasn’t sure if or how much he’d sleep anyway.

“Okay. See you tomorrow.” Clint hung up, leaving Phil to another day of waiting.

The next morning, Natasha surprised Phil with bagels for breakfast. Clint’s doing, Phil was sure. It was so like Clint to do something like this—worry about Phil when he was the one enduring endless delays and way too many airports. 

Natasha dragged him out of the house after breakfast and did an impressive job of keeping him distracted most of the day. Even if she had to confiscate Phil’s phone so he wouldn’t check every five minutes to see if he should leave for the airport.

At last, it was time to head out to JFK. Phil got there too early, but he didn’t care. It felt much longer than five days since he last saw Clint, and all he wanted was to take Clint home, feed him some real food, and then tuck him into bed.

Yes, Phil had it bad. He’d made his peace with it. And besides, there were still moments when he couldn’t believe that what he thought of as hopelessly one-sided feelings were mutual.

Naturally, there was one last delay when Clint’s plane taxied for nearly forty minutes. 

Another thirty minutes passed before Clint finally emerged from the glass doors, shuffling among a large group of people. Once he spotted Phil, he wove past suitcases and small children to tumble into Phil’s arms, bow case and backpack dropped at his feet.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” Clint mumbled.

Phil hugged him tight and closed his eyes, letting the busy terminal fall away. “Welcome home.” He ran his hand over Clint’s neck and back. “You need a quick debrief?” If anything upsetting happened on the op, Phil wanted Clint to share it on the car ride, so he could get it out and dump it from his brain before they got home.

Clint pulled back. “Nah. I’m good. Already filed the AAR from…somewhere. Some hotel room. Didn’t have much else to do.”

He looked shattered. Dark smudges under his eyes, hair sticking up at all angles, and a slump to his shoulders that spoke of being in air travel limbo for far too long.

Phil wanted to hide Clint away from the world. He cupped Clint’s cheek and kissed him. Soft and light, just a fleeting brush of lips. Clint let out a pleased hum. “Let’s go. I got us a car.”

“You really do love me.”

Phil swallowed all kinds of emotional declarations. “You should have seen how eager the newbies were for the job. Almost escalated into a fistfight.”

Clint laughed. “And who got the honors?”

“Agent McKinley, on account of swearing she knows the fastest route home from JFK.”

“Let’s put that to the test.” He gathered up his case and backpack. As they walked to the exit, Clint’s hand slipped into Phil’s. It was most welcome.

Once they were in the car, privacy screen up and leaving them in their own bubble, Phil bunched his jacket into a makeshift pillow and tugged Clint down into this lap. “You’d fall asleep anyway and this is more comfortable.”

Clint let out a long sigh once he was settled, and drifted off in minutes. Agent McKinley made good on her promise, but they still hit traffic at a few key points. Phil didn’t mind; it gave Clint a first chance at some sleep, and the boost in energy would hopefully allow him to stay awake long enough to have some food.

When they made it home, Clint immediately headed to the couch and cocooned himself in his favorite purple fleece blanket. 

“I got some chicken soup from the deli down the block,” Phil said.

“’m not hungry.”

“When is the last time you had something to eat?”

Clint blinked. “Uhh, on the plane? Some weird pasta thing.”

“Maybe just a mug? That way your stomach won’t try to eat itself if you sleep for twelve hours.”

“Yeah, okay.” Clint tilted sideways until he was stretched out.

Phil went to the kitchen to heat up the soup. Clint was asleep when Phil returned to the living room. He gently squeezed Clint’s shoulder. “Hey. Soup’s ready.”

Clint groaned. He slowly straightened up. As Phil sat down next to him, Clint held out an arm. “C’mon, get under here.”

They worked together to drape the blanket over the two of them, and Clint slumped against Phil’s side as he worked his way through the soup.

“Mmhmm, this is good.” 

Phil smiled and pressed a kiss to Clint’s hair. The restlessness of the last few days vanished. It was good to sit there, Clint next to him, warm and safe and sort-of home for Christmas.

“Bed now?” Phil asked when Clint set the empty mug down on the coffee table.

“You coming, too?” Clint replied, a soft hope in his voice.

“I—“ It was only 9pm, so Phil wasn’t tired. “Sure. I probably won’t fall asleep.” Although who knew. Phil didn’t exactly sleep well the last few nights, and he knew it was because Clint wasn’t there. “But I can lie down with you, if you want.”

“That’d be nice.” Clint sounded hesitant, almost as if he didn’t dare ask Phil for such a favor. Which wasn’t a favor at all considering that Phil had missed Clint a lot more than was justified for only five days apart.

Clint managed a three-minute shower—“I smell gross, ugh, you don’t have to suffer through that,” he explained—and then crawled into bed.

They got into their usual falling-asleep positions, and Phil felt stupidly happy. “Glad you’re home.”

Clint smiled into his shoulder. “Me too.”

Phil fell asleep for a little while. When he woke up, he knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep anytime soon, and got out of bed. 

He walked back into the living room, switched on the tree, and started the novel he bought weeks ago, but didn’t have the peace of mind to start.

Two hours later, footsteps came down the hall. 

“Everything okay?” Phil looked up at Clint.

“Yeah. Just, my sleep cycle’s fucked.” He grabbed the blanket and sat down next to Phil. “The tree looks really nice.”

It did. Phil liked the cobbled-together ornaments: some that Phil had from an attempt at Christmas a decade ago, some that his mom had sent, including a few masterpieces Phil crafted during his childhood and that Clint insisted had to go on the tree, and some that they picked out together. “Merry Christmas.”

“Is it still Christmas?”

“For another twenty minutes or so.”

“Do you want to do Christmas tomorrow? Gifts and pancakes and everything?”

“Of course.” It made Phil sad to think that Clint might have thought they wouldn’t stick to their plans. “It’ll be Christmas just for us.”

“Best Christma—” A long yawn cut in. “Hmm, more sleep now.”

“And to all a good night,” Phil whispered.


End file.
